Another Interesting Graveyard Shift For Alvin
by Madame Butterfly
Summary: The little bell chimed shallowly, announcing their entrance into the minimart at around eleven o’clock that night.


AN. A prequel of sorts to _Intoxication, Not Delusion_, but an entirely independent story. Still part of the _Demolition Lovers _series. For heaven's sake, just refer to the AN of the aforementioned story. :P

PS. I own nothing. I could own Alvin, though, and Wikipedia defined a gun for me.

For the _fanfic100_ challenge on _LiveJournal._ Prompt: Black

_I would drive on to the end with you  
A liquor store or two keeps the gas tank full _

**Another Interesting Graveyard Shift For Alvin**

The clerk's name was Alvin, a junior who worked the late shift to get him through college. He took the graveyard shift over the one at six for two reasons: First, his classes started at nine in the morning, and secondly, hardly anyone came into the store at that time, and if anyone did, they were always the most interesting.

The little bell chimed shallowly, announcing their entrance into the mini-mart at around eleven o'clock that night. He looked up from his nth back issue of some overly saturated indie music magazine and paid them no mind. Just a couple of bored kids just like him, a few years younger, perhaps runaways who emancipated themselves early, with the night sky as the roof over their heads. His lazy gaze lingered on them. Yes, just a couple.

Though obviously sleep-deprived and a little unkempt, both still exuded a sort of grace and litheness, like flowing water or a woman. The taller of the two, was blonde and in a black-and-white striped polo shirt, recognizably Izod beneath the signs of wear, and the dark-haired one in rimless glasses and all black, the hood of his sweatshirt almost over his eyes.

They turned down an aisle and disappeared from his line of vision. He propped his legs up on the counter and settled back into his reading.

They went around at a leisurely pace, browsing shelves of foreign brands idly, though they were really not supposed to be so casual, and not supposed to be there in the first place.

But they were.

They got the average American means of junk food sustenance and alcohol – "Cheap booze. How low have we gone?" pondered Tamaki –, and a jar of instant coffee, because Tamaki insisted on dwelling on the sentimental and Kyouya had no willpower to protest.

Kyouya slumped over the counter, his head in his arms, as Alvin lazily ran the items through the scanner. His head was tilted downwards, though his eyes, under the protection his bangs dyed a dark red, were brave enough to look up into Tamaki's face. Transfixed, his gray eyes stared into his eyes of an indeterminable of blue and purple, but their gazes never met. Tamaki's eyes were on Kyouya as he grunted and shifted sometimes, as if in sleep or impatience.

He rung up the total of their expenses, and waited for them to pay. Tamaki stepped aside and gave the floor to Kyouya, who pulled out a gun from under his sweatshirt. It was nothing special or impressive, as far as guns came along, just a standard pistol. Though, still just as deadly as any other mechanical device that fires projectiles at a high velocity. He stepped back, his hands open and on either side of his head. "Whoa, man, easy. Easy."

He looked around, found the surveillance camera and shot at it twice. "Put the items in a paper bags, and the money in cashier and safe in another." Kyouya said, using his gun to point. He congratulated himself quietly, for holding it so steadily this time.

Alvin complied, stuffing things haphazardly into paper bags. He wasn't scared, though. He knew this boy, with eyes so intense that they seemed to burn even from beneath the hood and a flattering Asian accent, couldn't kill him, not in this scenario. He had been in his shoes once, in high school as well, though this one was much sterner, and calmer, thus more effective. His mind wandered to Jake, what he would do in this situation, and he wanted to smirk. Jake was one of those people who were made for daylight, for the lazy afternoon shifts where kids come to get candy after school.

He stole a glance at the blonde again, who was at the door and watching the road, his arms crossed tensely and his breathing a near stop.

He pushed the bags towards Kyouya then raised his hands midair once more. Kyouya called for Tamaki and told him to take the items and stuff them in the car in firm, fast Japanese. He did so, scooping them up with both arms and ran to their car.

They stood in silence as Tamaki's thumping footsteps faded into silence. He met his gaze once, briefly. As light reflected of his glasses, he caught a glimpse of deep eyes, dark brown and determined, though woefully tired.

After that, he was gone. Kyouya held his gaze for a minute then dashed off, running backwards at first and breaking off into a sprint once he shot out of the door.

He shook his head almost mockingly. They were new to this, he could tell. He decided to give them two minutes, and then he phoned the police.

Two police cars arrived promptly, though only two policemen questioned him. Another man was there, ready to sketch out those guilty faces.

After the standard questions one asks after a robbery, the policeman asked Alvin, "So, two of them, you say? How'd they look like?"

The artist got ready, the tip of the pencil poised over the pad.

Alvin opened his mouth but found himself wordless. "Well. Um. The one who pointed the gun at me, he was Asian, around six feet, though his buddy was a bit taller. His accomplice, he's blonde though part Asian. The one with the gun had really intense brown eyes, and the blonde had weird ones, though pretty ones. Listen, dude, I'm no fag, but I swear to God, man. Those dudes were so fucking pretty, it wasn't even funny."

The policeman raised a brow and the artist shook his head a bit as he attempted to transfer his words into pictures. In an effort to redeem himself, he mentioned their escape vehicle. A dark blue Toyota Corona, a 2003 model, he guessed, from what he could see from the store's exterior surveillance. "I've got a gut feeling they've taken the highway." He said. Leaning towards the police officer, he lowered his voice. "Yeah, 'coz I was in juvy too back in my day. Those two aren't even legal yet, I bet."

The police officer nodded. The artist flipped his sketchpad and showed Alvin his drawings.

Alvin tilted his head. "Yeah, something like that. But not really. I swear to God, officer, you'll know them if you see them. Two lone boys in a dark blue Corona. It's a lonely road at this time of night, you see. So."

"Can we ask for some contact numbers, son? So we can update you on things."

Alvin gave the store's number and his own cellphone number.

They exchanged a few more words, then the police cars left in pursuit of a dark blue Toyota Corona, with two pretty boys inside. Got it. Let's go.

Alvin slumped on a stool and fanned himself with his forgotten magazine. Yes, the most interesting things happen during the graveyard shift. "Truly, some interesting shit."

Some people called Alvin detached, or stoic, or passive.

A good distance away from the mini-mart, Tamaki and Kyouya drove in silence, though the music of a generic indie band played in the background.

It was a little past midnight.


End file.
